


as we dream by the fire.

by redhoods



Category: UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoods/pseuds/redhoods
Summary: Matthew is whistling too, has been since they started out here, cheery Christmas tunes, like he’s pleased as punch to be out here in the freezing cold with an axe over his shoulder.Maybe he is, damn him.Clayton tries to burrow impossibly deeper to his own coat, slides a little on snow packed into ice, starts swearing to himself, enough that Matthew pauses and looks back at him. He flips Matthew off, pulling his coat up to his chin as he takes another step, into the deep prints left by Matthew’s boots, “No, no, don’t worry about me.”
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Reverend Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	as we dream by the fire.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nevershootamockingbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevershootamockingbird/gifts).



> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. this got away from me. it's just indulgent christmas fluff.
> 
> title from walking in a winter wonderland by bing crosby.

It’s a good thing that Matthew’s a brick shithouse of a man, Clayton thinks with both appreciation for the breadth of his shoulders and disdain for the fact that his current appreciation is only due to the fact that it’s fucking snowing and he’s having to trudge in Matthew’s tracks just to get through the drifts of it. All for a goddamn Christmas tree.

This is Arabella’s fault.

And Matthew’s fault for being a fucking sucker.

Matthew is whistling too, has been since they started out here, cheery Christmas tunes, like he’s pleased as punch to be out here in the freezing cold with an axe over his shoulder.

Maybe he is, damn him. 

Clayton tries to burrow impossibly deeper to his own coat, slides a little on snow packed into ice, starts swearing to himself, enough that Matthew pauses and looks back at him. He flips Matthew off, pulling his coat up to his chin as he takes another step, into the deep prints left by Matthew’s boots, “No, no, don’t worry about me.”

Matthew arches a brow at him and starts whistling again as he turns.

Squinting at his back, Clayton gives into his impulse, scoops up some snow and lobs it at the back of the Reverend’s head. It splats there, satisfying as it slides down his neck into his shirt. He pats the gloves against his thighs, grinning to himself.

“Jesus and Santa, Mr. Sharpe,” Matthew warns lowly, rolling his shoulders a few times, before he starts walking again, reaching out with his free hand to touch the branches of the trees they pass.

This isn’t something Clayton’s ever done, help pick a tree or anything of the sort. Really, he’d only gone this by default. The cold made Aly’s leg mess up something fierce and there was no way Miriam was going to let herself be paraded out in the snow like this.

And Arabella was seeing to their tree decorations, so obviously she couldn’t help pick the damn thing.

He grumbles at Matthew’s back, stopped once more as he watches Matthew circle a tree, “Don’t forget that we gotta get whatever you pick back to the house,” he warns, eyeing the size of the thing.

Matthew ignores him, gently knocking snow off the branches of the tree he’s inspecting, but even Clayton can tell he’s made up his mind as he lowers the axe, “I think this’ll look just right,” he decides aloud. 

And Clayton realizes he’s made an error in judgment on this one. 

Nothing grievous to anything but his own pride as he watches Matthew swing the axe.

He should move, stand on the other side of the tree or something, not still behind Matthew, watching the frankly obscene display that comes with every swing he makes, his body moving with the momentum. It’s really not goddamn fair.

Clearing his throat, he shuffles in the snow, making himself a circle of space so the snow will stop seeping into his pants as he reaches into the bag he was handed for the thermos. The smell of cocoa wafts from it and he takes a generous sip, letting the warmth of the drink sink in. He should’ve asked Miriam to add something to it.

This is how he misses the snowball that comes winging at him.

It smacks against his chest, high up at his collar, cold, wet seeping against his shirt and chest. 

Matthew is back to swinging his axe.

Clayton considers tackling him into the snow but knows that he’ll be the one that ends up down into the fresh powder if it comes to it. He settles for fuming at Matthew’s back and being kind enough to not drink all of the cocoa.

“Almost there,” Matthew announces suddenly, just as the tree tips into the snow.

“Good work,” Clayton says flatly, offering the thermos out when Matthew looks his way with a too pleased grin and pink cheeks and nose. They end up swapping the thermos and axe around, the latter of which is heavier than Clayton expects it to be.

Once Matthew hands him back the thermos, he takes one more drink for himself before tucking it away in the bag, watching as Matthew goes to inspect the tree. It’s not too terribly tall, they’ll have to stand it up in the house after all, but it’s decently sized around, full too.

Arabella’ll be happy about it.

He watches a little incredulous as Matthew scoops the thing up in his arms like it’s nothing, turning back to him, just barely visible over the branches, “Ready?”

Clayton nods mutely.

The smile Matthew offers him is cheery and then he starts whistling again as he walks.

Clayton hefts the axe onto his own shoulder and trudges after him, warily watching Matthew navigate the length of the tree around all the surrounding trees, but he seems to be having no issue with it. As a counterpoint to Matthew’s ease with the snow and tree, Clayton finds himself cold to his bones and sliding around in his shoes now that his socks are also soaked through.

It’s fucking miserable is what it is.

Aside from the whistling.

\-----

Arabella’s smile when they get back might be worth or maybe Matthew’s quiet pride when Miriam tells him he did good once they have it set up in the house. Clayton tries not to dwell as he sets up in front of the fireplace to try and get feeling back into all of his body really.

Matthew joins him while the women and Aly set about decorating the tree, holding his hands out towards the fire, “Oughta change outta your wet things before you catch a cold.”

“Says you,” Clayton grumbles, even though he knows Matthew’s right, but it’ll mean leaving the warm fire and removing his layers before he can put more on.

Matthew hums at him, fond and easy, before he pushes to stand and his hand comes into Clayton’s line of view, “Come on, I’ll lend you some layers too,” he offers, earnest, until Clayton sighs heavily and takes his hand, letting himself be pulled up.

It’s like he weighs nothing to Matthew, the minimal effort that goes into drawing him right up against Matthew’s side. He doesn’t shy from it, nor the arm around his shoulders as Matthew leads him through the house.

The rest of the place is cooler away from the stove and the fire and he’s already shivering by the time he’s shed his gloves and coat, fingers stiff as he works on unlacing his boots.

Standing at the dresser, Matthew seems to be having no trouble shedding layers and Clayton doesn’t feel the slightest bit bad by stepping behind him and shoving his cold fingers under the back of Matthew’s thin undershirt, pressing them against warm skin.

Matthew yelps, jerking in place, but doesn’t actually pull away, “Did you stand there with your hands in the snow?”

Clayton tucks against his back, pressing his face against Matthew’s shirt between his shoulder blades, “No, I was too busy watching you,” he muffles into the fabric.

“Oh?”

Clayton slides his hands around, pressing them flat against Matthew’s ribs to feel him twitch.

Matthew hums at him, “Come on, sweetheart, gotta take those wet clothes off.”

“Somehow you’ve managed to make that unsexy,” Clayton grumbles, withdrawing, but not before rubbing the pads of his cold fingers over Matthew’s nipples.

“Fuck,” Matthew hisses out, hands coming up to cover them through his shirt, “gonna get Arabella to knit you mittens,” he threatens.

Clayton snorts at him as he sits on the edge of the bed to finish removing his boots and wet socks, then starts shoving his pants off, kicking them away from him across the floor to scoop up later to hang, “It’s fuckin’ cold,” he grouses miserably as he stands.

A shirt hits him in the face and he wastes zero time pulling it on. It’s thick flannel, warm, smells like Matthew when he presses his face against the collar. Too big on him by a long stretch, but he doesn’t care, shrugging the fabric back up onto his shoulder as he moves shoulder to shoulder with Matthew to find some of his own pants.

He’d knick a pair of Matthew’s warm flannel plants in a heartbeat too, but there’s not enough rope in the world to make that plausible. It’s fine though, he has a few pairs of his own now, newer that Matthew had gotten for him when it’d started getting colder and became obvious that Clayton was not built for the cold.

By the time he’s gotten his own pants and two pairs of socks, Matthew’s sitting on the edge of the bed in some of his own flannels and no socks because he’s some sort of crazy person that doesn’t like to wear socks at home.

Matthew reaches out for him and Clayton goes, stepping between his knees, as Matthew’s arms loop around the backs of his thighs, chin against the softness of his belly, “Do you really not like Christmas?”

Clayton sighs, cupping the back of Matthew’s head, drawing fingers through his still snow damp hair, “I don’t not like it,” he says carefully.

“Never had a good one?”

He shrugs.

“There’s still time,” Matthew offers quietly.

Clayton huffs, “This has already been a better Christmas than basically every other one in my life,” he tells him, feeling too warm, too full at the answering smile that pulls at Matthew’s lips.

Matthew nudges him back enough to stand, wraps around him tight, rocking them side to side some, “I’m glad we could give you this then,” he says, chin against the top of Clayton’s head, his hands warm when they seek out bare skin.

“You’ve all given me a lot, Matty,” he presses against Matthew’s collar, twisting his fingers into the back of Matthew’s shirt.

“We’re not gonna stop either, better get used to it,” Matthew warns.

Pulling back, Clayton squints at him, “What did you do?”

Matthew only kisses his forehead before withdrawing, leaving the only point of contact where he slides their fingers together and starts tugging him towards the door, “I might have lied about not getting you something for Christmas.”

Clayton groans at his back.

“Hush you, I wanted to and I’m allowed to,” Matthew leads him back into the main room and to the couch where he sinks down, drawing Clayton into his lap like it’s nothing, “The tree looks lovely.”

Arabella turns a smile towards them where she’s finishing off a piece of red ribbon that she’s wrapped around the tree, “You picked a great tree,” she says, taking a bowl of what looks like berries or something from Miriam’s hand while Miriam continues to thread them onto a string that’s also wrapping around the tree.

“Are you whittling?” Clayton asks before he stop himself, settling into Matthew’s warmth, knowing that he’s safe with these people, his family.

Aloysius looks up with a grin, “Arabella said we needed an angel for the tree,” he says and when he turns the piece of wood, Clayton whistles low impressed.

It draws Arabella’s attention, so he turns it her way too and her cheeks tinge pink almost immediately before she nods just once, “It’s perfect, Aly,” she tells him and nudges Miriam to draw her attention from the decorating.

Miriam’s face goes through a myriad of expressions when she finally looks then she turns to Arabella, trying for stern before her eyes are damp, “Arabella,” she says, quiet.

Arabella shrugs helplessly, “I couldn’t think of a better guardian for the top of our tree.”

“Kiss her already,” Matthew calls, though to which of them, Clayton can’t guess. It doesn’t matter much when Arabella leans down and Miriam presses up onto her toes for a kiss that Clayton would call sweet up until the point where he has to look away for the sake of propriety or some shit plus the fact that he wants to be able to look both of them in the eye later.

Matthew muffles laughter against his shoulder, “Christmas spirit brings folks together,” he says, sounding far too pleased with himself.

Clayton twists to frown down at him, “How much mistletoe do you have?”

Matthew blinks innocently at him and that tells him enough.

“You’re going to accidentally poison someone,” Arabella declares by the tree and when Clayton turns back, her face is splotchy red and she’s smiling so big he’s a little worried about her cheeks.

“I would never,” Matthew says.

“Intentionally,” Clayton interjects.

Matthew pinches his side and Clayton laughs, curving against him to press his cheek to Matthew’s shoulder and still watch Arabella and Miriam decorate the tree. Matthew’s hand is broad and warm against the line of his spine, voice a rumble under his ear as Matthew starts to sing another one of his seeming endless Christmas songs.

Aly is the first to join him, then Miriam as she draws Arabella from the tree, the two of them dancing around the empty stretches of floor.

Warmth fills him and he finds Matthew’s free hand with his own, lacing their fingers together, thinking about the sloppily wrapped presents he’s got hidden beneath loose floorboards in the kitchen as Arabella twirls Miriam out in the direction of the couch and she winks before twisting back into Arabella’s arms.

One song becomes two as the ladies go back to decorating the tree until Aly announces he’s done with the angel for the top, “Moment of truth,” he says as he stands, moving slow to the tree, favoring his leg heavily. He doesn’t have to stretch much thankfully to reach the top of the tree and slide his carving into place.

The top of the tree wobbles a little, but holds, even though it’s leaning forward a bit and Matthew actually claps because that’s the sort of person he is, even if he’s got to do it with his palm against Clayton’s back because Clayton refuses to release his other hand.

Matthew kisses the top of his head and he hums quietly.

“Time to finish dinner,” Aly says, limping his way back to the kitchen with Miriam on his heels.

Arabella takes one look at the two of them on the couch before she follows.

“Still gonna be grumpy about it?” Matthew asks, breath stirring his hair.

Clayton rolls his head around, hums like he’s considering, says, “Only if you drag me out in the snow again.”

Matthew snorts softly.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Clayton admits quietly.

“Good, you’re supposed to,” Matthew tells him, nudging his shoulder until he sits up so he can meet Matthew’s gaze. All Matthew does though is draw him into a soft kiss, lingering with their lips pressed together, pulling back only enough to murmur, “Merry Christmas, Clayton.”

“Yeah, yeah, you too,” he grumbles, drawing Matthew into a more substantial kiss while Matthew laughs against his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [@vowofenmity](https://twitter.com/vowofenmity) on twitter.


End file.
